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"Because the Baas Whitebeard, he who dwells at Tampel, is, he says, a very angry man if he thinks himself cheated, and Karl is afraid lest he should kill him as another was killed, he whose spook haunts the wood through which those silly people feared to pass last night." "Who was killed and who killed him?" I asked.
"The Princess Aureline would have nothing to say to him, however, because he was wicked as well as rich, so at last the King of the Black-Country gathered his army together and marching against King Whitebeard he conquered him and carried off the Princess Aureline captive.
"Oh, I took the clown's cap," said the fairy, "for it was the wishing-cap, and fast as you and the Princess rode back to the country of King Whitebeard I was there before you." Teddy thought for a while and then he heaved a deep sigh. "I wish I really had a circus horse," he said, "and could ride round and have all the people watching and shouting.
"Far off yonder toward the east, where the sky looks so pale and bright," began the fairy, "there lives a king, who is called King Whitebeard, because his beard is as white as snow. He had only one child, a daughter named the Princess Aureline, and she was as beautiful as the day and as good as she was beautiful.
Something had startled the white steed that bore the scarlet kirtle; he swerved aside and rose on his haunches with a suddenness that nearly unseated his rider; then he took the bronze bit between his teeth and leaped forward. Whitebeard and his bay mare were left behind. The yellow hair streamed out like a banner; nearer, and Alwin could see that it was indeed a girl.
"I see now, Baas," said Hans, thrusting his head between my curtains, "that yonder Whitebeard cannot be your reverend father, the Predikant, after all." "Why not?" I asked, though the fact was fairly obvious. "Because, Baas, if he were, he would not have left Hans, of whom he always thought so well, to run in the sun like a dog, while he and others travel in carriages like great white ladies."
His head was still ringing with the shrieks of his mother's waiting-women, as the Danes bore them out of the burning castle. Whitebeard came galloping up, puffing and panting. He was a puny little German, with a face as small and withered as a winter apple, but a body swaddled in fur-trimmed tunics until it seemed as fat as a polar bear's. He rolled off his horse; the crowd parted before him.
"We're getting a pickup," I told him. "Vehicle from the Times." I thought it would save arguments if I didn't mention who was bringing it. Before we left the lighted elevator car, we took a quick nose count. Besides the Kivelsons, there were five Javelin men Ramón Llewellyn, Abdullah Monnahan, Abe Clifford, Cesário Vieira, and a whitebeard named Piet Dumont.
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